


Your Love Is Better Than Ice Cream

by Shoshanna Gold (shoshannagold)



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-30
Updated: 2009-01-30
Packaged: 2017-10-06 14:33:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shoshannagold/pseuds/Shoshanna%20Gold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompts: sharing, vanilla</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Love Is Better Than Ice Cream

Nate looks up from his book to see Brad standing in the doorway. "Did you get cold while you were running? I told you to wear the blue headband, it's warmer than that one."

"While your concern is touching, my point is that prevailing climactic conditions counter-indicate the consumption of ice cream." Brad kicks off his shoes and sheds layers of running clothes as he walks into the living room, stopping in front of Nate.

"It's never too cold to eat ice cream," says Nate sagely, as he digs his spoon into his bowl.

"You New Englanders think you're stalwart and hearty, but you're really just delusional."

"If you're not nice, I'm not going to share my ice cream with you." Nate eats his ice cream, slowly. Telling Brad he can't have something is like waving a red flag in front of a bull, Nate's just expediting matters by sucking off the spoon.

True to form, Brad bends over and kisses Nate, running his tongue over Nate's palette. "Vanilla? Not only are you eating ice cream in fucking January, you're eating boring ice cream. Really, I expect better of you."

"It had chocolate topping, but I ate that already," Nate says, and brings the spoon up to his lips. It's not his fault that Brad's mouth is so close to his; it's not like Nate's feeding him, he tells himself as Brad swallows. "But there are still traces of chocolate, can you taste it?"

Brad smirks as he takes the bowl from Nate and sets it on the coffee table. He straddles Nate, kneeling so that all of his weight isn't on him. This is why their couch is wider and deeper than most, which isn't necessarily something he explains to the people who comment on its size.

"I'm going to have to do some recon to determine the exact nature of your snack, sir," he explains, and kisses Nate thoroughly. "Right you are, there's a hint of chocolate."

"You took my ice cream away," says Nate, pushing up Brad's shirt. His hands must be cold, because Brad sucks in his stomach when Nate touches him.

Brad's mouth quirks up. "One might almost think that you're trained to observe, if you keep providing such astute sit reps."

"Shut up. I want to know how you plan to compensate me."

"Business school brought out a whole different side of you, didn't it?" Brad says, pulling his shirt off. "I don't remember you having such a sense of entitlement, before."

"I just want what's mine." Nate licks at Brad's nipple, then blows softly, so that it puckers before he laps at it again.

"I'm not saying I don't like it." Brad pulls on Nate's hair as he takes a pass at the other nipple, biting this time. "Tell me how I can make it up to you."

Nate looks up when there's another tug on his hair. Brad's expression is only half-amused, there's seriousness there, too. This is what people don't see when they look at them, this is what made five years of phone sex and stolen time worth it; this makes up for sleepless nights when Brad was in Afghanistan or Iraq or South Korea. If Brad hadn't decided he wanted to teach at Quantico, Nate would have moved to California, and he'd never have been able to make other people understand why he was willing to jeopardize his career to share his life with a Marine, because he doesn't have words for the look on Brad's face.

He kisses Brad instead of saying anything, long and slow and dirty.

It takes some strategic maneuvering, but eventually he gets what he wants, which is to lie on the couch with Brad sitting between his legs. He's got one leg thrown over the back of the couch, the other almost on the floor; he's spread wide open, not just because of his position, but because Brad's got three fingers in his ass, and is fucking into him. "More," he says, the word taking what's left of his breath away.

Brad kisses the inside of his raised leg, sucking a mark into it, and complies, tucking his pinkie under his other fingers as he pushes into Nate again.

Nate groans, wrapping a hand firmly around the base of his cock. He's taken more than this, he could have Brad's entire hand inside him, or he could come from just this, but he doesn't want either of those things. He'll wait until Brad's fucking him, until it's Brad's hand stroking him off, and they can share that, too.


End file.
